


Midnight Oil

by doomedship



Category: Bodyguard (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 06:43:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16487714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomedship/pseuds/doomedship
Summary: Five times Julia Montague sees three a.m.





	Midnight Oil

**Author's Note:**

> Unsure how happy I am with this one. Comments welcome. This does sort of read chronologically, or alternatively they could be totally unrelated snapshots.

_One_

She wakes up gasping at three in the morning a week after she's been shot at and almost killed in the backseat of her car.

She's made it through the last few nights by a mixture of shock, sex, exhaustion and sleeping pills, but now she's taking none of those she is suddenly plunged into a new reality of vividly distorted memories replaying in her head in stark technicolour, and it terrifies her like nothing she's ever known before.

It's only then that she realises she's never really had a nightmare before. Not like this, not like drowning in a sea of mortal fear that steals the very breath from her lungs and makes her want to never stop running. Everything pales in comparison to this.

He is in the next room and she wonders dimly whether he ever sleeps at all, because he's running in in seconds, alerted by the gasps she hasn't managed to conceal. He's only wearing his boxers, but he's got his gun clenched in his right hand and his eyes sweep the room like the trained marksman he is.

He works out what's going on pretty quickly. Ditches the gun and comes over to the bed where she's still sitting, clenching the edge of the sheet in one hand as if it's the only thing tethering her to sanity.

She almost can't bear the tenderness in his eyes.

He sits on the edge of the bed and gently uncurls her hand and holds it in his.

She feels the prickling of shame like thorns scattering down her spine, and avoids looking up at him.

"You'd have to be inhuman not to feel this after what you've been through," he reminds her, and she reluctantly meets his eyes. They're warm and understanding, and she thinks this must be a glimpse into the world she's never really thought about before.

The world he lives in, where trauma rules the night.

She shivers to think what he must see in his own dreams, and thinks now she understands why it is that he barely seems to sleep.

In the end doesn't have to ask him to give her what she desperately wants and she's grateful for that. He slides under the covers next to her and pulls her into the security of his arms and his steady heartbeat pressed up against her ear.

She still can't sleep but next to him she feels calm, relieved, like a small boat finally coming into harbour. She tries not to think about what kind of storm she'd be in right now without him.

And she vows to ask him one day, what it is that scares him at night.

 

.....

 

_Two_

She's flat on her back in the bed with him between her thighs and her hands pinned in one of his above her head.

She can't stop the breathy little sounds that are spilling from her and anyway, she doesn't think she wants to because she feels him tighten his grip on the sheets and thrust a little harder with every gasp and moan she makes.

The thrill of being with him hasn't even begun to wane.

She meets his eyes and it's like an electric current that travels all the way down her body and leaves every part it touches scorching with the heat of it. The smouldering intensity of the way he looks at her ensnares her, a seductive flame drawing her in so deeply she can do nothing but feel the full body burn that comes with being engulfed in it. She'll gladly take the pain of those burns if she can keep on feeling the fire.

She arches her back and moans as he shifts one hand to push on her inner thigh, tilting her just that little bit more so she can feel every solid inch of him, every slick thrust that takes her within a breath of total abandon. He moves his hand across her, testing, yet always pulling back before she can get what she so desperately wants.

It's surprising how much she likes his control when he's got her spread out underneath him. She's never one to be told what to do but there's something so glorious about just going along for the ride when the driver's clearly got such an expert handle on the road. He sets the pace and he decides where they go, and she can't get enough of it.

He obviously likes it too; she can see the slow, pleased smile he gets when she pleads with him in ragged breaths to let her finish or she won't be able to bear it. He kisses her with unexpected gentleness then and draws her legs up around him, and she crosses them automatically over his back as he slows the burn to a warm ember instead of a roaring flame.

"Take it easy, love," he murmurs. "We've got all night."

And they do.

It's not far off morning by the time they're a tangle of limbs under the covers, utterly sated, and exhausted. But with the warm ache between her thighs and the feel of him wrapped around her she thinks it'll be worth the lack of sleep to keep spending her nights like this.

 

_....._

 

_Three_

She's let herself get used to sleeping next to someone by now.

It's been a good few months and tacitly he's more or less moved in, by silent mutual agreement. Neither of them really likes his flat so they always stay at hers, and it just makes sense for him to have the things he needs there all the time.

So his toothbrush is next to hers and his clothes are in a drawer and the brand of coffee he prefers is on the top shelf in the fridge.

They've even fixed sides of the bed, and his book is sitting on the bedside table along with his mug and a pair of his cufflinks.

More or less the only thing of his that isn't actually here right now is him.

They have quarrelled bitterly, over something trite that escalated unnecessarily. He left the flat a couple of hours ago in a fit of temper and she's not heard from him since.

It's not the first time they've argued but this time it has the ring of something serious about it and she's got a gnawing feeling deep in her stomach that makes trying to go to sleep pointless.

She gets up and wanders the flat instead, wrapped in a dressing gown and wondering whether she is in the wrong.

Or if it even matters.

She sits on the sofa and kneads her temples with her fingers and wonders if this is something she'll be able to take back. Checks her phone but the only message is from Rob, bloody Rob, and now is just not the time to dissect why he's even up and messaging her at quarter to midnight on a Friday evening.

She hovers over David's number for a while, wanting to do it but also not wanting to know for sure if he'll just ignore her calls like she suspects he will.

In the end she gives up and thrusts the phone under a cushion and curls up, trying to watch something mundane on television to see if that'll send her to sleep.

It doesn't, and one am rolls around, then two.

She gets up in the next ad break and makes herself a cup of herbal tea, and she's leaning on the kitchen counter pensively when she hears the door click.

She's instantly on red alert and she tries to calm her suddenly jangling nerves. Tries not to anticipate what he's going to say when he comes through, the still-lurking fear she has that he's going to come to his senses and say he's had enough after all.

He comes in silently, and she looks up and meets his eye gravely. There's a drawn out awkward pause where he just studies her, then all at once they both start talking.

"I'm sorry we-"

"I didn't mean for-"

They both break off and exchange a tentative smile. She feels the knots in her stomach loosen slightly. He isn't here to break it off.

"I thought I'd find you in bed by now," he says, coming forwards and taking her mug out of her hands so he can set it aside on the counter. He pulls her into a hug that feels like pure relief.

"I don't seem quite as able to get to sleep without you these days," she says, cocking an eyebrow as she leans back with her arms still around his middle. "Quite a tragic development, all things considered."

He smiles at her and there's contrition in his eyes.

"I'm sorry about before," he says. "What I said... you know I didn't mean it. I was just angry, and it was so stupid."

"No. Me neither," she says. They are quiet for a while. "Knowing us, I daresay there'll be a few more of those to come. Think we can survive it?" she says.

"If there's one thing we do well, it's survive," he says with a rueful half smile.

"True."

He studies her for another long moment, then sighs and loops his hand in the hair at the nape of her neck, cradling her head against his shoulder.

"Were you worried I wasn't going to come back?"

She doesn't respond, and he knows it's her reluctant version of yes.

"I'd never deliberately not come back to you," he says quietly, tilting her head up with one finger under her chin. "No matter how angry I am. OK?"

"You mean it'll just take you until three in the morning to do so," she comments, and he laughs sheepishly, checking his watch.

"Sorry."

She smiles. "Better late than never, I suppose," she says, and leads him by the hand to their bedroom.

And finally she gets to fall asleep beside him, where not for the first time, she thinks, all is forgiven.

 

 .....

_Four_

She comes home late from an appalling day at work. Everything has gone to hell and she's fending off challenges left, right and centre and she's staring at her laptop screen as if it'll have all the answers, but all that's really there is a hundred unread emails and an unfinished white paper.

He sees her mood and tactfully leaves her to it, knowing by now when to soothe and when to simply let her steam.

At midnight he comes in to check on her again, dressed for bed and knocking quietly on her study door. She glances up at him and feels a stab of guilt for neglecting him; she often thinks she doesn't deserve his patience.

"You all right, love?"

"Yeah," she answers, the tendrils of frustration still coiling in her stomach and forcing her to look back at the screen. She feels him approach her, one hand sliding across her shoulder and gently kneading the tense muscles in her neck. She sighs.

"I'm sorry to be bad company," she says to him, reaching up to squeeze his hand. "I'm afraid I've still got a couple of hours to do. This just isn't going away tonight."

He smiles sympathetically, leans down and kisses her. She doesn't deserve his understanding.

He leans in and brushes his lips to her ear.

"I'll make it worth your while when you're done," he murmurs. She smiles at him with genuine warmth then, and watches wistfully as he shuts the door behind him and heads to bed.

She turns back to her work and the frown finds its way back onto her face, words coming no more easily than they did three hours ago.

It's not til almost three that she finally shuts the lid, eyes squinting and sore and her brain whirring and jarring like a mad old wind up toy. Her best work it is not, but it will get her through, and she gladly turns her back on it for what remains of the night.

She stumbles to the bathroom, barely summoning the will to splash her face and change clothes before she tries to creep into the bedroom without waking him.

Which is difficult task considering he's an ex-bodyguard and a vet and he's somehow got a knack for being vigilant even when he sleeps.

She fumbles her way in the dark and slides under the covers as quietly as she can, but her thoughts are still whirring, unable to wind down from going at a hundred miles an hour so quickly. She rubs her face and anticipates a sleepless night ahead.

"All done?"

His voice makes her start, and she rolls over to look at him. She can just about see the shine of his eyes in the darkness.

"More or less," she replies, reaching out to pat his chest apologetically. "Sorry I woke you."

"I'm not," he says, taking her hand and suddenly rolling her onto her back. He drops his head to her neck and bites softly, and she is startled by the almost pitiful speed and eagerness of her body's response to him.

Her eyes adjust to the dark and she can see him smiling roguishly above her, and somewhere inside her her heart twists with affection for this man, who can be woken up at three in the morning and still look at her like this.

"I said I'd make it worth your while," he reminds her, and she laughs, then it quickly turns to moans, and gasps and pants which last far later into the night than either of them have business being awake for.

She doesn't have any trouble sleeping after, either.

..... 

_Five_

She has been walking around the flat for an hour.

It's a full moon and it's absurdly bright and it's annoying her, but then everything does these days.

She's nine months pregnant and she can't wait for this part to be over. She's hot, uncomfortable and achy and there's no way to be comfortable in bed anymore, no matter how many absurdly shaped pillows she buys. The baby's due any day but seems in no hurry to end her suffering.

She's taken to perambulating the flat to spare David her tossing and turning. It's been weeks since she slept through the night and she's been mostly getting by with judiciously timed naps during the day, but the lack is starting to take its toll.

She's obviously not been as quiet as she thinks, because she hears footsteps coming through the bedroom door and into the hallway. She pauses in her latest circle of the coffee table to look over at him.

She would apologise, but all of this is his own fault, and she's endured weeks of insomnia while he sleeps like a baby every night. It's one of life's greatest injustices, and she vows darkly to make it illegal as soon as she gets back to work.

"Can't sleep, love?" He says blearily, and she shoots him a withering look across the room. "Point taken."

He yawns, rubbing his face as he comes over and puts his arms around her as best as her extremely large belly will allow.

"Given how little sleep I'm anticipating getting with a newborn, it seems very unfair that I can't sleep now either," she says shrewishly. He hums into her hair.

"S'alright. I'll start pulling my weight when the little one's born. Promise."

"I don't think you'll like what I'll do to you if you don't," she says, glowering up at him like she wants to be angry. But in fact, she can't resist smiling at him, standing there in a moonlit living room with her at three in the morning, just because.

In truth, it's a happiness she always expected to be denied. She's built her life on extremes and this is a stunning normality she doesn't think she was ever supposed to have.

But somehow, she's cheated the odds and ended up here.

Exactly where she's supposed to be.


End file.
